Hannah
Reinhard

My paintings are an extension of myself; they are portraits of sadness, excitement, joy, embarrassment, and play. They are loud and argumentative. They are sleeping with a Jewish boy one night, then his Jewish roommate the next morning, in their Jewish frat house. They are feeling self-conscious about Shabbat when you’re at your cousin’s house because your mom converted, so you have no other Jewish relatives and they still don’t understand it. They are being jealous of the girls who got free nose jobs in high school because their parents were friends with the plastic surgeon and for the rest of your life you’ll want a nose job, but also want to own your nose like Barbara Streisand did. They are having too many words, but never the right ones. They are too Jewish and not Jewish enough.